The Stars Outside My Window
by October
Summary: What if Frodo's crossing over the sea was only a metaphor?


**The Stars Outside My Window**

Characters: Frodo, Sam, Pippin, Rose, Elanor. Summary: Drama. What if Frodo's crossing the Sea is only a metaphor? Warnings: SAD Hobbits. DISCLAIMER: Lord of the Rings is not owned by me. This story is written only for personal enjoyment; I'm not making one cent from it. 

It's morning, and I'm grateful. The pain is always easier during the daylight hours.

I love this little room. It was mine when I was just a lad. The big window looks out onto the garden, where I can watch the birds picking at the ripened sunflowers. The sun is just rising, gilding everything with gold-- the twisted trunks of the hazels, the clouds, the drops of dew. It's early autumn. A tumble of small red tomatoes falls so brightly they look like blossoms. Out beyond the low stone wall I see several deer making their way cautiously across the road. The scene is framed with climbing roses.

I try to stretch my arms and gasp as a lance of agony pierces the old wound. I squint against the pain, fixing my gaze at the distant clouds. Sam once said there was light and high beauty forever beyond the shadows. I must focus on that now.

As if hearing my thoughts (and I believe he often does) Sam enters the room with a little knock. "Would you like some breakfast, Mr. Frodo?" His smile is warm and genuine despite the fact he is haggard. Nothing can hide it. He's losing weight steadily. His eyes are red much of the time. Rose hasn't been looking much better.

The two of them take turns tending me. I'm never alone for very long, even when I sleep. Sam sleeps with me now. I know he's afraid I'll leave unbidden.

"Yes, thank you." My voice is failing and I no longer sound like myself. The voice often fails when the heart does.

Rose comes in with broth and sits me up in bed, propping me with several pillows. She's remarkably strong. I smile at her as she spoon-feeds me. It's been a very long time since I had a mother.

"I'm so sorry, Frodo," she says unexpectedly. "I didn't know it would come to this. I didn't know you would still need him."

"Everything has worked out for the best," I say gently, gratified by her admission. "How could any of us have known that this would happen... at least so soon? Besides, now I have both of you to care for me." But her perception is keen, as far as it goes; for in a way I still cannot fully understand, my heart was indeed broken by her union with my Sam. Still, I can't imagine how much worse my pain would be at leaving Sam alone here. This way is better.

I hear a new voice in the kitchen. Pippin's awake. My cousin has been helping with Elanor for the last two weeks. I smile again. It's surprising how much I still find to smile at during these difficult days.

I finish the broth for Rose. She leaves me propped comfortably. A few minutes later, there's a soft knock at my door. "Come in," I call weakly.

Pippin bounds in, brandishing an envelope. His gaiety is false, but at least he's not as exhausted as Sam and Rose, even though he's been stuck with Elanor much of the time. "It's the post. You have mail from Rivendell!"

I take the letter from my cousin and fumble at Elrond's wax seal. Pippin leans in to break it with his thumbnail, but he leaves me my privacy as I read the missive. Bilbo is dying.

To Pippin I only say: "It's Bilbo. I wish I could see him again."

Sensing bad news, Pippin bites his lip and reaches for my hand. We sit for a time, thoughtful and silent.

"Hey Pip," I say at last. "That medicine you brought the other day eased my pain greatly, but I've run out. Could you get me some more?"

Pippin is delighted to have something he can do for me. I kiss his hand before letting it go and he smiles and ducks out shyly.

I drift into a reverie, watching the clouds while the pain comes and goes. Though the day is not cold, I am.

Sam is done feeding the livestock. Now he's here with the old blue bowl and pitcher that have been a fixture of this place for at least a hundred years. He freshens me with all the tenderness of a mother caring for her babe. My dear Sam. He notes the envelope on the little table by the bed and says nothing, knowing I'll speak in good time.

"D'you feel like sitting in the study for awhile? I built a nice fire."

As much as I love this room, a change of scenery would be welcome and I say so. Sam dresses me in warmer flannels and then lifts me to my feet.

I can't walk. I'm just too weak. Sam supports me steadily.

I shake my head in frustration. "This--!"

"It's just too early for you, I expect," Sam says lightly, though his face is serious. "You always were a late riser. But we'll get you there one way or another." Strong as a pony, he lifts me up like a child and carries me down the hall.

I sit in the comfortable old chair by the fire. Sam is trying to cheer things up by chasing little Elanor across the floor on hands and knees. She crawls along surprisingly fast, worming her way under a table. Sam follows and cracks his head on the underpinnings. We all laugh. He retrieves Elanor and puts her on my lap.

It's a warm enough day. Rose opens the door and we breathe in the sweet scent of the fields.

"Old Daddy Twofoot just got a third cutting in," Sam comments.

I have to tell him. "I must write a letter today, Sam. To Bilbo."

"How is Mr. Bilbo? I knew the letter Pippin brought had to be from him."

"No, it was from Lord Elrond." I draw a deep breath, steeling myself. The pain is crushing. "Dear Uncle Bilbo is not doing very well, I'm afraid. He may be leaving us."

My words hit him like arrows, staggering him. I gasp in sympathy. In the kitchen, Rose drops a dish.

Sam nods that he's all right and leaves the room, shoulders hunched. I am terribly sorry, but I owe him the truth. Ever since dear Bilbo taught him to read and write, Sam has loved him so.

I sit, Elanor squirming on my lap, and remember my youth like an endless dream. Playing in the garden or fishing at Bywater, curled up with a good book by the window, watching a storm come through-- and always Bilbo would have cinnamon tea on the stove and a plate of something good to eat just waiting for me. I did not know my good fortune then. Now we are leaving together.

The sun travels slowly on its way across the sky.

A shadow at the door startles me awake. It's Pippin. "Hey Frodo," he says, dropping to his knee beside my chair and taking Elanor up in his arms. Pip smells like hay and the out-of-doors. "I got your medicine."

"Thank you very much. That's a great help."

"I got you a berry scone, too." Pippin fumbles first in one pocket, then another, finally coming up with a small, well-wrapped parcel. "It's still warm."

"I'm amazed you haven't eaten it."

"Well, I did think about it."

I smile and reach for the pastry even though I'm not hungry. It's delicious and Pippin and I end up sharing it as I cannot eat more than a few bites. "I think Elanor wants to try it," he says and offers her a crumb.

I gesture toward the writing desk. "I need to write a letter," I say.

"D'you feel strong enough, Frodo?"

"Yes, I think so."

I still can't walk. My legs and body feel very tired and heavy. Pippin calls Sam and together they get me situated at the desk with parchment, quill and ink. Sam sits down wearily in the armchair I have just left. Rose takes Elanor to feed her and put her down for her nap. Pippin softly asks Sam if he's all right and he murmurs assent. Pippin offers to do some garden work and that brings an instant negative. I chuckle breathlessly and then bend over the parchment, trying to focus on my task.

The letters that come from my pen are spidery and unsure of themselves; my hand is quivering.

_My dear, dear Uncle Bilbo. If only I could see you one more time. But I will see you again soon in any case._

My hand slips and I almost knock over the ink bottle. Sam asks quickly if I need any help and I shake my head. I'm dizzy. The strain of writing is affecting me, but there is no time. No time for my beloved Uncle, and no time for me.

I put pen back to parchment, but no words present themselves to my awareness. The last few days I've found it very difficult to think. I close my eyes tightly.

I'm fainting.

I'm lying in my bed. The setting sun is shining through the window and it fills me with profound sadness. I love the sunlight. I don't want it to go.

Sam and Rose are bending over me. Behind them I see Pippin holding Elanor. Tears are running freely down his face. I reach feebly for him.

He clasps my hand at once and brings it to his lips. "Merry's coming," he says, trying bravely to smile. "I sent for him."

"Please, give me some of that medicine," I say, as much to comfort him as to ease my pain. Rose runs to get a spoon and Pippin, handing her the baby, pours the syrupy stuff and lifts my head to give it to me. Sam presses a cool wet cloth to my brow.

I'm more comfortable now, but I feel my body failing quickly. Tomorrow. I will leave tomorrow.

I hope I have time enough to see Merry, and say so. Pippin says he will ride out to meet him, and that they will be back as soon as may be. He rushes out before I can say anything more.

The birds are singing their nightsongs. It's a haunting, elvish sound. I lay quite still, drinking in every sweet drop of it. Tears roll slowly, one after the other, down my cheek.

Night comes slowly. The moon shines through the rushing clouds. Shadows of nodding roses cast strange and beautiful images on the wall. Sam rests by my side with my hand in his, just as we slept in the Black Land.

I dream in fits and starts, dreams of a future I will never see. I see children, I know their names. I wake suddenly. "Sam," I say urgently. "Sam!"

He rouses from his half-slumber. He looks terrible. The slow ebbing of my life is reflected in his face.

"You must listen to me," I whisper. "Don't tell them I died."

He clears his throat a little. "Don't tell who?"

"The children."

He blinks.

"Tell them I left on an Elf-ship. Tell them I sailed away."

He doesn't speak. His eyes are bright and wet.

My head is too heavy and I sink back in exhaustion.

Sam's despair is wordless, awful to behold. He shakes his head slowly from side to side like a wounded animal and I wonder which of us is in more pain. I will be so grateful when all this suffering is over.

At last Sam begins to weep. He has accepted my fate and my heart breaks to see it. I try desperately to comfort him, but I am so weak now.

For a time it seems we never left Mordor. We are that helpless.

Then, over his shoulder, I see the stars outside my window. There were no stars in the Black Land.

Sam falls quiet, exhausted, looking utterly bereft. I press my lips to his cheek and drift into sleep on his breast, lulled by his soft breathing. It sounds like the waves of the sea.


End file.
